Even Heroes Have Scars
by cchummerson
Summary: Blaine has always been the strong one. When a confrontation with an unwanted visitor causes Blaine to finally break, he exposes the secrets of his abusive childhood. Can Kurt help reassemble the pieces? Rated T for language and mention of rape.
1. An Unwanted Visitor

**A/N: I decided to change things up and write a story that focuses less on fluffy Klaine romance and more on Blaine's past. Glee has yet to mention anything about Blaine's father (actually, not entirely true, Blaine did briefly mention that he and fist father had fixed up a car...) and I got to thinking...what if Blaine had had troubles of his own that even his friends were uninformed of? Thus, this story was born. **

**Hope you like it.**

**3 Ceecee**

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Blaine had frozen, mid-step, as Kurt came into view.

He wasn't alone.

The man stopped in front of the car, a friendly smile plastered on his face. His hair was neatly combed and gelled down, in a style that wasn't much different from the way Blaine himself used to wear his own. Streaks of gray and the crow's feet wrinkling the sides of his eyes indicated that he was middle-aged, perhaps forty or so. He wore a navy sports jacket and khakis, a black tie collaring his neck. His face held the evidence of a faint five o' clock shadow, as if he'd neglected to shave that day.

And he was smiling right at Kurt.

"No," Blaine hissed, and picked up his pace towards the area where Kurt and the man were standing. As he approached their conversation slowly became more and more comprehensible.

"…a very wonderful school. Dalton was a nice selection."

Kurt nodded, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Yes, it's uh, quite prestigious, isn't it?"

The man clapped his hands together, his smile broadening.

Oh God. That smile. That cold, awful smile. Blaine felt a deep animosity grow within himself, and he began trembling in undisclosed rage.

"Anyway, the educational system aside, is there a Blaine that is currently attending this establishment? I believe his last name is Anderson."

Kurt nodded again, and the man crossed his arms over his chest in a business-like manner.

"Would you happen to know where I could find him?"

Kurt hesitated, running his hand through his hair, which he had so painstakingly styled that morning. His body language was evident: he was nervous. Very nervous.

"Oh, well I…what do you want with him?"

The man took a step forward, staring at him with such intense scrutiny that both Blaine and Kurt squirmed self-consciously.

"I believe that is my own business, young man." he replied tersely. Then the sugar dripped back into his voice. "Could you please inform me of where he is? I'm sure that you would kn—"

"YOU." Blaine spoke up from behind the younger teen, stepping in front of him protectively. Kurt jumped, no expecting his sudden company. "What the hell are you _doing here_?"

The man's bushy eyebrows raised in surprise at Blaine's hostile inquiry. Then they lowered as recognition crossed his face.

"Blaine." His voice was synthetically pleasant, like he was masking another emotion, one less-friendly. "It's been a while since we have last seen each other."

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "Kurt." He grabbed his friend's arm, squeezing it faintly. "Get in the car."

Sensing the tension, Kurt's eyes darted between Blaine and the man uneasily. "Why?"

Blaine sighed with exasperation. "Just do it."

Kurt stood his ground defiantly. "What is going—"

"KURT. Get in the goddamn car!" Blaine turned to look at him, his smoldering dark eyes boring into Kurt's soft blue ones. Kurt flinched at Blaine's sudden use of profanity.

Blaine never swore casually. Never.

Kurt backed away and, without taking his eyes off of both Blaine and the stranger, pulled open the car door and slid inside obediently. He paused before pressing down on the lock, hearing it click dully.

Blaine turned to face the man again, clenching his fists at his sides tightly.

"Now, that brusque language was hardly necessary," the man said smoothly, flattening out the lapels of his jacket. Blaine ignored his critique and questioned him again fiercely.

"What are you doing here? You should be rotting away in a cell!" He was practically yelling, unaware of the quizzical looks other students passing by were giving him.

The man shook his head disapprovingly. "You shouldn't be talking to me in that tone, Blaine. It's extremely disrespectful."

"Respect?" Blaine laughed mirthlessly. "You don't deserve my respect. Or anyone else's."

Kurt watched the scenario from behind the windshield, biting his lip. Blaine was attracting a lot of unwanted attention from bystanders, and more and more people were stopping to stare at the commotion. He didn't seem to care, however; his full focus was directed towards the adult standing near the hood of the vehicle.

Blaine stepped closer to him, jabbing his finger into his chest abrasively. "You should leave. Now."

The man blinked at him and reached up, adjusting Blaine's tie. Blaine pulled away, glaring daggers at him. If looks could kill, the man would have died a hundred deaths at that very moment.

"That's not very kind of you. Here, I went out of my way to find you so that we could talk face-to-face like civilized men and you act all defensive."

Blaine's eyes widened incredulously.

"Defensive? I'm getting _defensive?_ Why are you so surprised? You hurt me and my mom, ruin our lives, and then come back here and expect me to, what, run over to you with open arms? Calmly talk about our past conflicts over a cup of coffee like we're discussing the weather? No way. It's not that easy, nor will I _ever_ make it so." Blaine was near hysterics, while the man just stared back at him stoically. "_You._ I don't even understand why they would ever let a person like you go. Live, even. No, you don't even deserve to be called a person. You are a monster. A goddamn, heartless monster. That's all you ever were, and that's all you'll ever be. You can try to fix what you've done, but believe me, no amount of time or money will ever compensate for what you've done. Ever."

The man frowned, tilting his head, and studied the incensed teenager thoughtfully.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes. I am finished. Finished with this conversation, and finished with you."

Suddenly the man reached out and grabbed onto Blaine's jacket, jerking him closer. Rage flashed in his eyes and his kindred expression dissolved as immediately as it had formed.

"No. That's where you are wrong. We're not done here. You can run, but you'll never ever be able to hide. Because—mark my words, Blaine—I will find you."

"Get your hands off of me!" Blaine shoved against the man's chest, forcefully pulling back, and stumbled over towards the driver's seat. The man laughed and shook his head as Blaine yanked open the door and clambered in, slamming it behind him.

"Until next time then, Blaine." He replied, the smile returning to his face. Then he turned on his heel and strolled away, back in the direction he'd come, whistling nonchalantly. Blaine watched him leave, clutching the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white.

"Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!" he swore violently under his breath, beating his fist against the wheel with every profane declaration. Kurt stared at him, a mixture of shock and empathy flooding his eyes.

Blaine pulled his keys out from the pocket of his blazer and thrust them into the ignition, turning them quickly. The engine sputtered to life, growling with deafening volume. He threw the car into reverse and pulled out of the Dalton parking lot hastily. Then he continued down the road, accelerating until he'd reached a speed that Kurt was sure was way beyond the limit. Kurt glanced around worriedly, hoping that they weren't in the presence of any police officers.

The car continued speeding down the road. Blaine's driving was so frantic, any passerby could easily assume that he was a flustered husband trying to drive his impregnated wife to the hospital to give birth.

Yeah, if only it were that simple.

They approached a red light, and Blaine—thankfully—hit the breaks. The power of the stop caused the car to jolt, throwing both boys forward, only to have them jerked back by their seatbelts. Kurt took a deep breath in and peered over at his friend. Blaine's elbow rested against the wheel, a hand twisting his dark curls as she stared downwards. His expression remained unreadable. Kurt reached out and hesitantly touched his arm.

"Blaine…"

Blaine's eyes slowly traveled over to Kurt's face and he regarded him strangely, as if he'd forgetton Kurt was even there.

"What."

The word came out a statement, as opposed to a question; his voice set in an even, dead monotone. Kurt removed his hand and folded it in his lap.

"Who…who was that?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Blaine steadily.

Blaine stared back at the road, anticipating when the light was going to switch to green.

"That man," he replied softly, "was my father."

They sat there silent for a moment. The light turned green and Blaine resumed driving, noticeably slower in comparison to before.

"Blaine," Kurt began again, mustering up more courage, "why do you hate him?"

"Excuse me?" Blaine's eyes flickered away from the road, back over in his direction.

Kurt shifted his position, recrossing his legs and smoothing his hands along the sleeves of his now-wrinkled blazer. "Why do you hate him? I mean, what did he do to deserve—"

"_Everything._" Blaine's tone suddenly jumped, as if he was shouting. Kurt flinched again and slowly inched away. Blaine took a deep breath in and exhaled.

"He did everything."

"Everything? What do you mea—"

Blaine held his hand up, signaling him to be quiet. "Not here. Wait."

Kurt turned away and gazed out the window. A small, dark-haired girl walked down the street, her fingers intertwined the taller boy walking next to her. A pang of guilt him as he recognized the couple; Finn and Rachel. Immediately, he was brought back to the issue of how he left New Directions, just before they were to compete at Sectionals. Perhaps they'd found some superhuman way to forgive him for such a desertion. Perhaps not. He certainly wouldn't have let it go so easily, if in their shoes. In fact, there still was existing tension between him and Finn back at home. Kurt had com to dread dinner; having to sit at a table ad be expected to eat when Finn was right across from him shooting his accusing looks…it didn't exactly do anything to whet the appetite.

But that was the least of his concerns at the moment. He glanced over at Blaine peripherally, wondering what exactly that man—Blaine's father—could have done to get such a response out of him.

Well, he'd find out soon enough, wouldn't he?

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**To be continued...**


	2. Demons From My Past

**A/N: *kicks self* I'm so sorry for the delay! My Office Word program decided that operating smoothly was too mainstream and crashed on me (such inconvenient timing, too!) temporarily stalling my writing. Rest assured, the issue has since been resolved.**

**Please forgive me for the gap between updates. You've all been extremely patient with me, which I really appreciate.**

**Enjoy, my dears! :)**

**~Ceecee **

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"I can guarantee that what you're about to hear won't be pleasant." Blaine warned, sitting down on the beige leather love-seat and motioning for Kurt to do the same. Kurt sank down onto the cushion cautiously as he registered Blaine's words.

They hadn't spoken for the rest of the drive to the Anderson household. The silence had been deafening; not to mention extremely uncomfortable. Throughout the duration of the ride, Kurt was racking his brain for possible reasons behind Blaine's callous feelings towards his father. Now that he would be able to find out, however, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know.

"All right." Kurt replied, feeling a wave of unease sweep through his body.

Blaine took a deep breath in and began.

"My first memories of my father were horrific. Angry flames smoldering like cinders in his eyes, the sudden flash of his hand, a fierce jarring pain zapping through my body…

I could never please that man. I could never feel safe within my own skin. I lived in constant fear of his rage; everyday brought fresh, swelling bruises, everyday seemingly brought me closer and closer to death. There was no asylum from his immense hatred—all I could ever do was curl up into a far corner and cry in anguish over the blood that flowed from my battered skin and wounds gashed open on my face. He broke my bones repeatedly, yelling at me, calling me weak if I dared to scream.

"I'm sure it's hard to believe how a man who had had the capability to make love to a woman and stay with her to be the father of her child, a man who stood by that woman's side during labor and held that small baby in his arms as it cried its first breath, a man who in his vows swore to love and protect his family until death take him, could express such loathing towards his only son…towards me. But he did. He really did. And the yoke of his abhorrence is carried upon my shoulders eternally."

Blaine took a breath, glancing up at his friend's mortified expression. Kurt's piercing blue eyes were soft with growing emotion, every blink of his lashes producing more and more moisture, which threatened to spill over at any given moment. Understandable, even he had trouble believe himself as the words spilled from his lips.

It was painful revisiting the past. Every word caused Blaine's heart to grown heavier with undisclosed angst. It was as if the bruises were returning, his skin stinging with the bitter resentment he held against the holy terror he'd been forced to call his father.

But he had to keep going. He had to continue venturing deeper into his shadowed memories and shed light on his wicked past, make all the suffering he had endured be known. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Calmly, Blaine shrugged his Dalton uniform blazer off his shoulders, tossing it to the side. Then he removed the tie from around his neck, placing it near the discarded jacket. Kurt, who had been watching him carefully, widened his eyes as Blaine unbuttoned his shirt and gingerly pulled it open, revealing his bare chest.

And his scars.

Faded scarlet marks were slashed across the older boy's skin, some flat and blotchy, while others were slightly raised, replicating scratches that could've been made by the claws of an enraged feline. Blaine's back had a remarkable amount of these marks. The consistency gave the impression of being the result of a strap being struck against the skin repeatedly. As if by some cruel form of punishment.

Kurt swallowed and reached out a timid hand, tenderly tracing his fingertips over the angry red inflictions that permanently disfigured Blaine's skin. Somehow, touching the marks made them seem even viler, as if it proved further their physical existence.

Blaine guided Kurt's hand down to the rise of his hip. Kurt practically choked as his fingers made contact with the jagged surface of the deep disfigurement located there.

"Oh God." Kurt breathed, closing his eyes as tears began to spill over his eyes. Blaine closed his shirt, studying Kurt's face as he buttoned it gradually. "How….how did you get that?" Kurt opened his eyes and struggled to meet Blaine's without faltering.

"Dad always had me doing the chores around the house. One day I accidentally cracked a plate against the counter while doing the dishes and chipped a part of it off. He got angry and told me to fix it—obviously, there was no possible way for a seven-year-old to fix a plate without some sort of adhesive material. Since I couldn't fix it, he decided to 'put a chip in me' as well."

Kurt covered his face, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And well….that wasn't the end of it, either." Blaine continued, staring down at his clenched hands. "Sometimes he'd come home late at night—from the bar, you know? And he'd be hellishly drunk and in the mood for some…some _entertainment._" He winced from the pang of nostalgia he felt, "My bedroom…it was always the closest place. Always."

"No." Kurt breathed, appalled by what he was hearing. "Please, no…"

"Yes." Bitterness seeped into Blaine's words. "He stole my virginity. I was ten at the time."

Kurt paled and he quickly averted his eyes.

Suddenly, Blaine looked completely different. Much different than how Kurt had initially perceived him. Beneath the mask of self-assurance, the courageous individuality, was a vulnerable little boy, who had been beaten and raped by a father he was convince could and never would love him.

This discovery alone made his heart ache.

He longed to see his friend smile and laugh, to hear his encouraging words, to feel his supportive grip on his shoulders. Blaine's usually starry eyes were lifeless and empty, like they had been drained of all elation and left only with the poison of grief. Kurt couldn't begin to imagine living his life normally when there was so much from his past haunting him. And Blaine had fought to push those horrible experiences behind him and move forward in his life. The fact that he could continuously maintain such a positive outlook was surreal, and so inspiring.

Kurt found himself laughing ruefully. "And here, I get shoved against a locker a few times and think I have it tough." he sighed, "You must think I'm especially melodramatic."

"No. I don't think that. I think you're lucky. Bruises heal."

Kurt dragged his eyes away and focused on the shag carpeting at his feet. He wanted desperately to find the right thing to say, but found no words coming to mind. He'd taken the false impression that he was the constant victim and Blaine was a support beam that was there to prevent him from a disastrous crash and burn. But now everything was becoming so lucid, and he was beginning to realize that he also had a supportive role to play.

Kurt wasn't supposed to be the blind man, stumbling over everything unless aided by the guidance of another's vision. It was a blind man leading a blind man, a bond built up on the foundation of trust. A delicate balance that could be forever broken with just the slightest tip of the scale.

Blaine needed Kurt just as much as Kurt needed him.

The younger teen took Blaine's hand, intertwining their fingers together securely. Blaine let out a deep sigh, his eyebrows furrowed diffidently. He swallowed, emotion flickering through his eyes. Kurt brought their intertwined hands up to his chest, holding them against his heart.

"It's okay to cry." He whispered softly.

Blaine shook his head as a single tear fell down his face.

"You've been through so much, I know. It's so difficult to put the past completely behind you—no matter how hard you try, it's always going to be lurking in the shadows, waiting.

"But if there's something I've learned from my own past troubles, it's how to be strong. How to ignore those nagging voices in my head and speak out louder than them. I remember, a really brilliant, wonderful man once told me to look inside myself; to discover the courage I needed to raise my voice. He helped me find that strength to continue on. Now, it's my turn to help him. To show him just how much he is loved in this world, just how important of a person he is to everyone he knows, and…and just how amazing I think he truly is." Kurt's voice was barely over a whisper now. "Blaine, I love you. I really, really love you."

Blaine kept his gaze downward. "I don't believe in love anymore." He murmured. "I've searched for it forever, and I've never seen it."

"Love isn't something you see, Blaine. It's something you feel. In your eyes, that one person, they're everything to you. They may not be perfect to everyone, but they're perfect enough for you. Love is accepting and looking past their flaws, and accepting them for who they are, inside and out."

"Who am I, Kurt?"

Kurt squeezed his hand.

"My hero."

The tears came. Blaine shut his eyes as they cascaded down his cheeks, like a long-expected rainstorm finally arriving after a perennial drought. He didn't try to hold anything back, there was no point. Instead, he shed his invincibility mask and exposed the emotion that had been hidden underneath it for so long.

"Blaine." Kurt's hesitant hand ghosted over his skin, his fingertips brushing along his jaw and stopping to tenderly cup his cheek. Blaine turned his face towards him, opening his eyes. Kurt smoothed his thumb across his cheekbone, wiping away a tear that had yet to completely drop. "I'm here. It's going to be okay."

Blaine's eyes closed again, his shoulders rose and fell as sobs broke the steadiness o his breath. Kurt wrapped his arms around the older boy and pulled him closer, running a hand through his tight curls soothingly.

"I'm not going anywhere." Kurt assured him. "I promise."

Blaine buried his face into Kurt's shoulder as the countertenor continued stroking his hair, trying to placate his tears.

"I-I try to stay positive." Blaine's voice wavered, "but it's…it's just gotten so hard…"

"Shh." Kurt quieted him. "You're a strong person, Blaine. I admire that in you. And you've come so far since then. But even heroes can't do everything alone. They need help along the way, too." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "And that's what I'm here for; to help you. So that you won't have to feel like you're fighting this battle on your own."

Kurt pulled Blaine in, pressing his lips softly against his cheek. He could taste the faint salinity of his tears, filling him with an irrepressible compassion. Blaine relaxed into his arms, holding onto him tightly. Kurt smiled and hugged him briefly, before gently leaning back so that he could look him directly in the eyes.

"Those scars may not be able to heal; but you can."

Blaine gazed back at him, a hint of a smile beginning to form across his mouth.

There was no way to predict the future, nor were there any alluding signs. Blaine knew that only time could explicate what was to come.

But this time, he wouldn't have to stand alone.

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**To be continued**


	3. Epilogue: With Love, Your Son

**LOVE NOTE: The rating for this fic was changed from M to T, as it was originally supposed to only be at a T rating...my mistake, there.**

**A/N: This was just a small idea that popped into my head as I finished up chapter two. It's supposed to serve as an epilogue; hopefully it does just that!**

**Lots of love and KLISSES,**

**~Ceecee**

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_

Dear Meygan,

_It's strange calling you by your first name; but I guess it's the most appropriate way for me to address you, given the circumstances. And what strange, confusing circumstances they are._

_I needed to talk to you, someway, somehow. Although what I'm about to say would be so much easier to tell you in person, it is evident that neither you nor I are ready for that sort of communication yet. So I find myself sitting here, pencil in hand, about to expose some of my most personal feelings to you._

_It's my eighteenth birthday, to begin with. I haven't seen you since my eleventh, and even then you weren't really…there. Honestly, I felt as if those bottles you kept hidden under your bed—yes, I knew about them—were more paramount to you than I was. You saw my father hit me. You saw, and did nothing to stop it. Instead, you'd retreat into your room and raise a bottle to your mouth in hopes to drown out your problems with beer. But now that I think about it, there really wasn't anything you could have done to stop him, was there?_

_I'm not writing this to criticize or make you feel guilty._

_I just wanted you to know that, even after seven years, I still think about you. I think about you all the time. I remember your bright smile, I hear your wonderful laughter, I still smell traces of that perfume you always wore—the one that smelled like lilies—on the old cardboard box full of my belongings that I refused to part with. But above all, I think about how he hurt you. Even now, I have scars covering my body, like permanent scraps of evidence of what we went through during those long years. I now realize that I wasn't the only one who let the battlefield bleeding. He scarred you, too. Not necessarily physically, but emotionally. The aftermath of such traumatic memories will always haunt us._

_Despite this, I still won't hesitate to say that I do (and will always) love you. And that I really miss you._

_It's been hard adapting to such different environments. I have a little sister now (she's fifteen and really beautiful, she reminds me so much of you in that way) and an overzealous Labrador retriever. Marc and Janine are great foster parents…I think you'd like them. I currently go to Dalton Academy. It's a private school with an all-male student body. I'm proud to say that I excel academically. Friends come easily to me, as well. I'm also involved in several extra-curricular activities there._

_Do you remember how you and I used to sing Beatles and Rolling Stones songs together? You always told me "People can take your liberties, but your voice flies forever". You were right, and that inspired me to join the glee club; so that my voice could be heard. And every song I sing, I sing for you. Because, no matter what, you'll always be my mother._

_I wouldn't have it any other way._

_I hope you are doing well, and send my love your way._

_Sincerely,_

_Your son,_

_Blaine Anderson_

Blaine slowly folded the letter into thirds and slipped it into the crisp white envelope that was sitting on the coffee table. Then he sat back on the love-seat, letting out a deep breath of relief. After hours of fastidious erasing and deep contemplation, he'd finally written it. There was still so much that remained unspoken, but he'd taken his first tentative steps. With every caress of pencil against paper, his fear of flying slowly diminished. Blaine picked up the envelope and peered out the window. The postal service truck sat lazily on the curb. The officer, satchel slung around his neck, was making his daily route along the block.

Blaine turned around and looked over at Kurt, who nodded wordlessly.

Motivated by his encouragement, Blaine opened the front door and went out to meet the postal officer, to whom he handed the letter. They exchanged brief greetings before parting.

Blaine paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder as the truck pulled away, taking his letter with it, before he continued back inside, Kurt watched him slouch back down onto the love-seat.

"How do you feel?" he asked. Blaine grinned, squeezing his hand playfully.

"Free," he replied. The younger boy smiled back at him, then leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Blaine laughed light-heartedly, before kissing him back.

And, for the first time in his life, Blaine's heart spread its timid wings and soared.

The End.

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**Hope you enjoyed it! **

**I'd love it if you'd take a moment and leave me a review :) (no pressure)**


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